


Out Into the Dark

by freshair



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, One Night Stands, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshair/pseuds/freshair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie and Bass fill in the empty spaces of Season Two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out into the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after "Patriot Games." Charlie and Bass stop for the night; though they try, they won't forget what happens.

The horses are tired. It has been a long day, and a longer week. Bass has had his eyes open for danger and trouble since the moment he saw Charlie go into that bar, and any sleep he has gotten has been fretful. His dreams are twisted, filled with the faces of people he’s lost, and they make him thrash in his sleep until Charlie wakes him for his watch.

He thinks that Charlie hasn’t noticed. She has, but hasn’t said anything—to each his own demons. She knows she has plenty of her own.

“We won’t make it to Willoughby before dark.” Bass has worked on that sentence in his head for the last ten minutes, trying to find the right thing to say to make Charlie trust him. This is all he’s come up with.

“We’re only seven miles away. We should just keep going,” she replies. She can’t keep emotion out of her voice, but she’s not even sure what emotion it is. She is dreading seeing her mother after all that has passed between them. She is looking forward to seeing Miles, but she doesn’t know what to expect between him and Monroe. She wishes she knew more about how they fell out. She wishes she didn’t have these feelings about Monroe himself—feelings that arose after seeing him fight in the Plains Nation. She can’t shake the shirtless image of him from her idle thoughts.

“Yeah, so we can get caught against their walls after dark? I know you’re green, Charlotte, but—“

She cuts him off. “Since you’re so smart, Monroe, where will we stop? I don’t see anyone around.”

“I noticed an outbuilding just ahead when we crossed that last rise. We’ll see what’s there.”

It turns out to be a stable, abandoned but in decent repair. Bass tethers the horses and jumps down. He offers Charlie his hand, but she ignores it and jumps down herself. They both draw their weapons and silently check the building. All clear.

“Get stuff set up for the night,” Bass says. “I’ll put the horses down if you’ll take first watch.”

Charlie nods agreements, and heads into the dark of the stable.

 

Bass makes his way back to where the head groom’s quarters are. It’s the most furnished room, and the most defensible.

“Good news. The windmill still works, so I filled the trough and watered the horse—” He stops in the doorway.

Charlie stands topless in front of a mirror. She is examining her side, where dark stitches are visible even in the dim half-light.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he says. “I thought we decided that you’d take the first watch.” He leans against the doorjamb as nonchalantly as possible.

“If you didn’t mean to interrupt, then why didn't you knock before you came in?” Charlie doesn’t turn, but looks at him in the reflection. She tries her best to act as though he isn’t bothering her. In truth, she had seen Monroe at the trough, and thought that she had a few minutes before he came back in. It’s too late now to act any differently. “If you’re going to pester me, you should at least help me take out these stitches. I can’t get them out with my off hand.”

It takes Bass a second to respond. Charlie thinks that it is because he is making fun of her, but in truth, he is entirely taken aback. _She is so young,_ he thinks, _to have so many scars. And I did this to her._

He goes out to the wagon and grabs their packs. He takes a lantern from a hook in the hall of the stable, fills it, and lights it. He sets it on the desk. He gestures for Charlie to sit on the bed, and pulls a chair up close to her.

“I don’t even remember getting cut,” she says.

“No wonder. I don’t know what they doped you with, but you didn’t even move when I started sewing you up.” The knife yanks a stitch, and Charlie grimaces. “I bet you didn’t flinch when you got shot with the salt round, did you? And now you’re wincing over a little boo-boo.” There’s amusement in his voice as he says it. Charlie doesn’t respond.

He waits in silence for a few moments as he tries to figure out what else there is to say, but suddenly the words tumble out of him.

"Look, Charlie, I’m just trying to do the right thing. I know that I messed up. I know I can’t make it right, but please, just give me a chance.”

Charlie looks at him. “I haven’t killed you yet, have I? Consider this your chance.” Bass sighs and keeps picking out the thread. As he finishes the last one, he turns to move the lamp closer.  He puts his hand out to maintain contact before he turns back, as he would with his horses. Something much softer than the skin of Charlie’s side meets his touch.

He jerks his head to look, and involuntarily rubs the ball of his thumb over her nipple. It tightens in response. “I—“ he stammers, and tries to pull his hand away.

Charlie puts her hand over his, pressing it more firmly against her skin. She doesn’t break eye contact as she moves backwards on the bed and pulls him with her. He doesn’t resist, is incapable of resisting. She is powerless to stop her own actions.

Charlie lies back on the bed. She unbuttons his shirt as she kisses his neck and breathes deeply of him. Bass moves beside her, and trails his hand down her flank as he kisses her shoulder. He shrugs off his sleeves while she helps, and forgets everything else.

His forehead touches hers. His hand slides lower down her stomach, and sudden goose bumps stand out on her skin. He tucks his fingers under her waistband. There is soft hair that he can’t see, soft hair that he has dreamed of, made furtive moments in the night to, felt guilty for wanting to explore these last few days.

Bass’s hand caresses, moves lower. He doesn’t probe yet, just moves and presses around her mound. He feels lace, and in the back of his mind, wonders where she got it.

Charlie pushes Bass back, and climbs over him. She lingers while straddling him, feeling his heat underneath her and answering with a heat of her own. She stands up. She unbuttons her pants as seductively as she knows how. It’s a clumsy attempt, but she sees its effect on Bass’s face. Her panties are indeed lace, unnaturally fluorescent ones that she found in an old shop on her way across the Plains and bought because she had never seen that color before. They stand out against her tan skin.

Bass reaches out and pulls her close. He buries his face in her chest, kissing and caressing. He puts his hand up the cheeks of her panties; he wants to feel as much of her skin as possible. He pulls her down on top of him. Her breasts press against his chest, his stomach against hers.

Charlie wriggles away a little to pull off Bass’s pants. He is straining at the seams, and breathes a sigh of relief as he springs free.

“Should I take off my panties?” she whispers hoarsely.

“Let me,” he replies. He flips her to her back, and pushes her knees apart. His arm is around her; he kisses her jawline and collarbone. He kneads her clitoris through the thin fabric. She lets out a whimper against her will. Bass grins and moves her panties to the side. He drags one finger up and down her slit, marveling at how wet she is for him. He might come just at the thought of how hot she is.

“Oh God,” she moans, “I want you.” She grabs his wrist where he is teasing her and tries to pull him closer.

“Do you?” He realizes this is inane chatter, but doesn’t know what else to say. The sight of Charlie’s pink, wet folds takes away all capability for higher thought. He reaches up and yanks down her panties, more roughly than he intended but unable to control himself.

The planes of her hipbones are mesmerizing.

The lines of his obliques are tantalizing.

Charlie is awash in sensations she didn’t even know were possible. She can’t decide where to touch, where to look. She wants to make eye contact, but Bass’s eyes keep piercing her to the core, and he is already driving her over the edge. She wants to bite his skin, to rake her fingernails down his spine, but he is too far away.

“Come closer,” she breathes.

He holds himself above her, shoulders flexed. They can feel the heat of each other, but both are suddenly unwilling to commit.

“Are you sure?” he asks. She meets his gaze as she nods.

Charlie reaches a hand down tentatively. She doesn’t know how much pressure she should use to guide him toward her. As she grasps him, Bass moans. Her eyes jerk to his mouth, to his eyes, but the look on his face is one of pleasure, not pain. She wraps her legs around him, and puts him at her entrance. She can feel his heartbeat.

Charlie has made love to one other man, a boy, really, from her hometown. It was awkward, and over before Charlie had any inkling of satisfaction. She hadn’t tried again.

But this? This is nothing like that. This is hot; this is passionate. She has never wanted anyone as much as she wants him at this moment. She arches her pelvis towards him and clenches her legs at the same time.

He fills her, and all of his restraint is gone. He doesn’t allow himself to think of what he is doing; he lets his animal instincts take over.

Their pelvises meet jarringly. It will leave bruises, but neither can feel it over the sensations that are flooding their bodies. It has been years since Bass has taken anyone to bed; the thought that the women might not be entirely willing has prevented him from any pleasures he might have had. This is not the case, this time—Charlie has made it abundantly clear how much she wants him and he doesn’t have much in the way of self-control at the best of times.

They fuck brutally, angrily. All pent-up aggression is channeled into their kisses and where their bodies join. Bass buries himself to the hilt every time; every time, Charlie rises up to meet him. Her breathing becomes ragged, because she can’t stop herself from holding her breath every time he moves inside her. He hears her breath get pushed out with each stroke. He is nearing orgasm, and so is she.

He picks her up and not-quite-slams her against the wall. He is looking her in the eyes as he holds her hands above her head with one hand. The other cups her bottom, muscles tight as her knees hook over his hips. He keeps his eyes open as long as possible, but as his climax washes over him, he closes them.

Charlie sees his eyes close, feels him release, and lets herself go as well. She shudders as her orgasm washes over her. Bass leans his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily. Charlie lets him, and puts her arms around his shoulders. She lets herself just savor the feeling of contact with him.

After a moment, she squirms to be put down. Bass disengages, and tries to kiss her again. He has an image of the two of them sleeping together, with her tucked in his arms while she holds the nightmares at bay. She can feel her attachment to him growing, and knows she needs to cut it off at the root.

She ducks under his arm, and starts picking up her clothing. An expression of hurt crosses his face, which he quickly tamps down. He is an expert at tamping down feelings.

“We can’t do that again.” Charlie says this as flatly as possible. She sees the pain on Bass’s face, hating herself for doing this, hating herself for having done that. She tries to temper her tone. “Miles already wants to kill you. If he knew about this…”

“I know.” Bass turns and looks for his own clothes. “All this was, was letting out tension. Glad we got it over now.” He is disgusted with himself for thinking this might be anything more; he is already longing to do it again.

“Bass…” Her saying his name sends a shiver down his spine. He puts his knuckles to the table and studies the surface; he is afraid that if he looks up, she will comment on his eyes watering again.

Charlie memorizes this view as much as she can—Bass is silhouetted by the lamplight, his posture one of agony, agony she is putting him in. His arms flex as he squeezes his fists. His face is stern and unmoving. He is beautiful.

“Bass,” she says again, trying to put everything she is feeling into words. He understands. He has felt it himself.

“I’ll take first watch.” She walks out the door into the night.


	2. Can't Bring Herself to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between "Dead Man Walking" and "The Patriot Act." Charlie does her best to save Monroe.

Charlie stops her mother on the way out of the house. The execution is just an hour away, and they hadn’t managed to break Monroe free. Rachel hadn’t listened to Charlie a bit earlier; she had just stood there, with that stupid look on her face like she was about to cry. What did Rachel have to cry about? She never even knew Danny—she had abandoned them when they were little, and then she abandoned Charlie again after the Tower. Charlie is the one with problems right now, and she needs to make her mother see that. Maybe honesty will get her what brutality hadn’t.

Rachel hears Charlie enter the house, and steels herself for the torrent of vitriol that she knows will pour from her daughter. Charlie’s soft voice surprises her.

“Mom, please. Isn’t there anything you can do?” Charlie tries to keep the whine out of her voice. Talking to Rachel always makes her feel like she is 7 years old again, and not old enough to keep secrets. “Please, mom. I know you can.”

Rachel grips the countertop. Her hands are white. “Why do you want to save him? Why? He killed your brother, he killed your father. How can you even begin to want him alive?” Rachel’s look as she turned to Charlie is incredulous. Her voice goes higher and higher as she talks. “He is one of the worst people alive right now, one of the great monsters of history, and we have the chance to end it. Why would I save him?”

“Because, Mom, we need him. He’s the best soldier we have, and maybe him being the worst is what we need right now. He can do things we can never dream of.”

“No, that’s exactly why we _don’t_ need him. He can do things like torture people, Charlie, because raspberries aren’t in season. He kills people just so he doesn’t have to walk around them. Why do we need that sort of monster on our side?”

Charlie’s face takes on a strange look. “Because we need him. Because…Because I need him.”

Rachel knows that look. She has given the same look to Gene who knows how many times. She knows there is no arguing, because who can argue with love, no matter how foolish the lover? She herself had tried to stop loving Miles; all she had ever managed was to keep it at bay while she was with Ben, and she knew that Ben knew it. He had never said, but after the Blackout, when he knew that she’d never see Miles again, there had been an easing of tension between them. She hated him for it, hated that he never even tried to fight for her, hated that he was ready to stop making an effort as soon as he was in the clear. And she had longed for Miles with every bone in her body, every single night.

“Oh God,” she says as she turns and buries her face in her hands. “Why him, why me… Why any of this?”

She is silent for a few minutes, long enough for Charlie to start shifting uncomfortably. “Mom?”

“Charlie, I need you to leave me alone right now. I have to think.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” Charlie’s mouth quirks up in a hopeful smile.

Rachel is curt. “I need to think. Now go.”

 

Charlie walks slowly towards the pond outside. She is in turmoil. Her mother is right—how can anything she feels outweigh everything he’s done? And yet it does. He may be an awful person—scratch maybe, _is_ an awful person. She stops and crouches, her knees in her chest and gravel at her feet.  What she wants more than anything is to be back on the road with Bass, not even with a destination in mind. She wants to run away from her mother, from any responsibilities she has to anyone else. She wants a chance to be herself with someone she hardly knows and who hardly knows her, but who sees right to her soul when he looks in her eyes.

She chucks a rock toward the still, dark water. “Stupid, stupid,” she mutters.

A sound behind her makes Charlie jump.

Rachel simply says, “Okay.”

 

Even though Charlie knows her mother has everything under control, she is scared as she sees Bass being marched to his death. He doesn’t see her back there, but she is watching him, heart aching with every step he takes. Grief fills every muscle of his body. His steps are slow and uneven. She longs to run to him and tell him it is okay, that everything will be alright, but fear for his sake keeps her feet glued to the grass. Bass disappears through the doors, which appear to swallow him up as he passes inside.

She is not allowed in; only the Texas and United States bigwigs are. The whole town of Willoughby is watching the doors, clearly relishing every second of the suspense. She hates this. Death is not a spectator sport. Her skin stands up in goosebumps as the bell begins to toll the passing of Sebastian Monroe. As the final note dies, she turns and makes her way into the dark beyond the torches, silent tears falling from her eyes.

 

It is not until close to dawn that Rachel comes to find Charlie. “I’ve got him in the wagon,” Rachel says, “but he’s too heavy for me to move by myself. Can you help me?” Her voice is carefully expressionless, and Charlie, for once, appreciates it.

She follows Rachel to a house just outside of town, closer than Charlie would have dared keep him. They tell the guards that they are hunting, as Charlie is careful to have brought her game bag and bow. The guards look suspicious. Rachel has often gone out and scavenged in these last few months, though, and they let them pass.

Bass is under a pile of old rags and hay, detritus from the escape from Andover. His chest barely rises and falls. Charlie is concerned, but Rachel says that his breathing will return to normal over the next few days.

Charlie detaches the traces from the wagon and makes a quick stretcher. They heave Bass onto it, and drag him into the house. Charlie is sweating by the time they are done.

“How did you get him into the wagon earlier, then?” she asks Rachel, who wipes sweat from her brow and puts her hands in her pockets.

“I wasn’t quite so concerned with his welfare at that moment. He might have some bruises when he wakes up.” She attempts to smile at Charlie. “I flopped him in like a ragdoll.”

Charlie doesn’t find this amusing, but for amity’s sake, smiles back. Rachel’s smile creeps a little closer to her eyes.

There is an old mattress in a back room of the house. It smells musty, but nothing scurries out when Charlie kicks it, so she deems it acceptable. They spread a blanket on the bed and turn to look at Monroe.

He is filthy. Having been buried and unburied, even in a coffin, has not been easy on Monroe. His hair is matted to his head, and from the smell of things, whatever drug Rachel gave him relaxed all of his muscles.

“We can’t put him to bed like this,” Rachel says matter-of-factly. She avoids Charlie’s eyes at her next statement, though. “I’ve brought him some other clothes. Why don’t you… get him undressed… while I go heat some water to bathe him?”

Charlie squirms a little inside at the thought of what Bass would say if he found out she has seen him like this. However, she just saved his life, so he can deal with it. She unbuttons his shirt, and pulls the tank over his head. He is a mass of scars; she couldn’t see any of this before, by the light of the lantern. She traces them lightly, wondering how he got them. With a jerk, she pulls herself out of her reverie, and finishes undressing him. She cleans him as much as she can with those rags. She figures that he won’t want the clothes he was buried in. She takes them out and throws them into the fire Rachel has built to heat the water, but Rachel is nowhere to be seen.

After a while, Rachel returns with a pot of hot water and clean rags. Charlie doesn’t ask her where she’s been. Her eyes are red and she doesn’t make eye contact. Together, they clean Monroe as well as they can; they wipe away all traces of the grave.

When they are done, they dress him in fresh clothes. This is much harder than Charlie thought it would be; Monroe’s muscles are loose and he puts up no resistance. “Are you sure he’s going to wake up?” Charlie asks.

“Of course,” Rachel replies. “I wouldn’t go to all this trouble if I weren’t absolutely certain that I was doing the right thing.”

Charlie ignores the deeper meaning of the words, instead looking down at Bass. She puts her hand on the side of his head; his curls are soft under her fingers. He makes a small noise, and Charlie is comforted.

“Why don’t I go home and tell Miles?” Rachel says. The sun has begun its descent, and darkness is only an hour or two away. “You can stay here and look after Monroe. He won’t wake up until tomorrow evening at the absolute earliest. And that way, Miles will have some time to prepare himself.” She leaves other words unsaid, words that Charlie knows she will never be able to bring herself to say. She nods.

Rachel leaves from another direction, hoping to throw any Patriots off the scent of Monroe. She doesn’t look back; she never looks back.

She’s left a little bit of food with Charlie, who uses the remains of the fire to heat it up. She lingers outside, unwilling to return inside to where Bass unknowingly waits. At last, the sun has set and she has let the ashes grow cold. She returns inside.

Bass is exactly where she left him. His arms rest on top of his blanket, straight by his sides. His face is so different in repose. He looks almost young and innocent again, especially with his golden halo of ringlets. His hair has gotten longer since he was President. She likes it.

There is a rocking chair in the corner of the room. Charlie has planned to sleep there; she knows she won’t sleep deeply. When she tries to sit down, however, the wood springs apart with a groan. The back falls off.

She looks with distaste at the mattress where Bass lies. How can she pretend to maintain her distance, sleeping beside him? But she doesn’t want to sleep on the floor. She pushes him over. He shrinks back a bit from the cold part of the bed, and she feels the heat from where he was. It is going to be a cold night, without any blankets or fire. She sits on the mattress against the wall, and maintains this position until night has truly fallen.

She isn’t scared by the dark. She is scared of her thoughts, though. She can’t put him out of her mind, especially not when he is right beside her. His body is so warm, and somehow his arm is right up beside her thigh. She presses her leg toward him, unable to resist.

It is well after midnight when she caves. Charlie pulls the blanket back and moves his arm up. She lies down in the hollow of his arm, her face on his chest. Though he is clean, he smells warm and strong, and his hand pulls her in just a little bit tighter. She puts her hand on his chest, and despite her intentions of sleeping lightly, is fast asleep in moments. She sleeps peacefully; no nightmares disturb her this night.

 

Bass is dreaming of his son. They are playing catch, and it is as if the Blackout never happened. He is so happy and content. He turns to call to his wife, but it is not Shelly he sees; it is Charlie. She smiles at him, and he wakes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass wakes from the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know that some of the details of this work don't exactly mesh with what we saw on screen, like Charlie asking Rachel to save Bass. This is because some of the episodes are lacking in, shall we say, panache? The show is very straight-forward, to the point, and (I think) sometimes overly obvious as exposition. So I tweaked some of the details to make it work. Hope you don't mind!
> 
> Also, the important part: more sex.

Bass’s head throbs and spins, worse than the hangover he got from the first batch of liquor from Miles’s still. For a moment, he thinks that the warm body beside him is Shelly, returned to him from a long absence. His muscles take a while to respond, so he is left in the dream state for a few seconds longer.

When his head finally turns, he sees that it is dirty blond hair in the moonlight, not dark brown, and the curls are much looser. He jerks. The abrupt movement startles Charlie awake. She scrambles back from Bass like a skittish animal, her clothes askew and eyes bleary. Bass doesn’t understand what he’s seeing or the feeling of loss as she moves away; his face falls and he tries to speak.

“Sh… Shell…” he stutters. The effort overwhelms him, and his eyes roll back in his head for a moment.

Charlie is back by his side in an instant. “Bass, don’t try to talk. You’re fine. Mom saved you. You’re safe. You’re safe,” she says in a soothing voice. She smoothes the hair back from his forehead, and he quiets. His breathing becomes regular again.

Daybreak is still several hours away. Charlie listens but hears nothing around her, and settles back down, though this time, she stays up against the wall and watches the moon creep across the window. She dozes, and wakes when the first birds begin to sing.

Bass has moved a little, now. He is curled up, and he has tried to tuck the blankets around himself again. Seeing that gives Charlie a funny feeling somewhere in her chest; she is not sure if it’s her stomach or her heart. She rises, stretches her stiff legs and back, and lifts the blanket over his shoulders. Her hand brushes his skin, not unintentionally.

He feels the deliberate touch, and it wakes him. Bass stays very still, and his voice is soft. “What happened, Charlotte?”

“I asked Mom to save you,” she says, carefully, “and she did.”

His mouth and brain are not working correctly. He thinks that he has heard her say that she kept him alive and that doesn’t make sense. “Why?”

Charlie knows that now is not the moment for dissembling. “Because I like you.”

His voice is wry. “What is this, second grade? ‘Will you go out with me, check yes or no?’” He tries to make light of what she has said because that it easier than facing the fact that he “likes” her too.

Charlie is hurt. “That’s not what I meant—“ she tries to say. Her voice sounds more than a little embarrassed, and Bass is momentarily ashamed of himself.

“Yeah, it is. Don’t try to deny it.” He tries to turn over, so he can look her in the eyes and lie about his feelings. He is good at that. “I’m no good for you, and you know it. There’s nothing for us.”

“So there’s an us, is there?” She tries to add some levity to her voice, but it sounds false and shrill to her ears.

“Charlotte—“

“No.”

She pulls him onto his back. “Don’t try to tell me you know better.”

She leans down close. “Don’t try to tell me that you’re not what I want.”

She kisses him, deeply, thoroughly. “Don’t try to tell me that this isn’t what you want, either.”

He looks straight back into her eyes and doesn’t flinch. “This isn’t what I want. I don’t want you like this.” He tries to stop there, but the words keep coming against his will. “I want you in a house with a picket fence. I want you with dresses and enough food and no need for guns and I don’t want you to die of some stupid, treatable disease. I want you—“ His words fail him, and he realizes what he is really saying. “I want you.”

“Well, that’s good,” Charlie says, “because you’ve got me.”

She leans back down and kisses him again. This kiss seems to last forever, yet is over in a heartbeat. His lips are soft against hers, his mouth searching and eager. Charlie answers each gesture with her own. She cups his head, using his curls to turn his head for access to his neck. His movements are still weak, but she feels his muscles tense as she kisses and breathes down his jawline.

She stops for a moment to shuck her clothing.

“Do you really think I’m up to that?” Bass asks. “I’m not even sure I’m up to making out.”

Charlie nods at the blanket around his waist and grins. “Oh, I think you’re up to it, alright.”  She pulls the cover back and snuggles up beside him. Her breasts are warm against his cool chest. Her hand slips down the contours of his body, trailing lightly over his skin and hair. She trails her fingertips down his inguinal crease. He shivers at the delicate touch. “Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work.”

She holds the blanket tight around them as she moves on top of Bass. She pulls one of his hands up and clasps it as she kisses his collarbone. He clasps her hand and turns his head in submission to her caresses. Maybe it’s the drugs in his system, but he thinks he feels her soul through each touch.

Charlie is tender with her nips as she moves down his chest. Each bite gets a kiss before she moves on. Her mind is wholly concentrated on Bass. Her lips brush his sternum before she presses back to look at him.

He looks back at her.  Her eyes are as open to him as a book; he can read every thought and feeling she’s having. How long has it been since he felt like this? Since Shelly? Did he ever feel like this with Emma? He doesn’t think so.

Charlie is more aware of Bass’s erection than she was the first night they were together, and she had thought that was as hard as it could get. Clearly not. It seems like it might be painful; her own arousal is almost more than she can stand, though she will willingly endure it as long as it takes to make Bass understand her need for him.

Her knees are by his sides. Her elbows cradle his head. She reaches down to guide him into her.

Charlie gently rocks back onto him, and emotion floods Bass. This time, they are not fucking; they are making love. Charlie sits up and holds Bass’s hands to her hips. The blanket falls back, but he doesn’t care. He is more than warm enough now. The light of dawn is bathing her softly and lighting her hair like a halo.

Their movements are languid. There is no rush this time; there is no anger to unleash or frustrations to release. Instead of a sparring match, this is a waltz, a slow dance. No teeth knock together in eagerness this time. The rhythm is never lost.  If it were raining, it would be perfect. Instead, the light is getting stronger and they can see each other more clearly than they’ve ever been able to.

Charlie’s hair falls over her shoulder as she braces herself above Bass. He puts his fingers in her tresses, and cups her cheek. He breathes deeply of her. He doesn’t even pretend to be manly, or rough, or macho. This is all about them, the two of them together. Charlie is moving above him, sliding along his shaft. He rocks his pelvis to make better contact, and bends his knees up. Charlie leans back. Bass slides one hand up her thigh, and strokes her clitoris with the other. She breathes in sharply, then closes her eyes and lays her head back. Her hair is spread over Bass’s legs, soft and tickling. She manages to keep moving, despite her muscles beginning to betray her.

Bass feels her smooth motion start to judder. He jerks her forward. Her hands land on the mattress beside his shoulders, and she leans down and kisses his deeply and fully. He is air to her, and she to him. He moves more vigorously, and she matches his movements. She is panting into his shoulder; he is pressing her hips down with his hands. He groans, and she holds her breath.

Their movements fade to stillness.

 

“Charlotte,” he says later. “I have a son.” He had put one arm behind his head, and the other is resting casually on his naked stomach. He is feigning nonchalance.

“I know,” she says. She continues putting on her boots.

“Oh.” He wasn’t expecting that.

“I won’t stand in the way of you finding him. Family is important. Isn’t that what brought me to you in the first place? Do what you need to do. I’ll wait.” She stands up and walks to the door. “I’m going to go find Mom. Maybe we should pretend, though, that this is the first you’ve woken up. Let’s break things to Miles one at a time.” She smiles, and disappears into the light.


End file.
